


The Song Remains a Pain

by Leenden



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Oversized Drabble Head Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leenden/pseuds/Leenden
Summary: This is more a less a head canon that I had involve Rick and Diane. Just think of it as an oversized drabble.Loosely inspired by the song Start//End by Edenhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHMdv2D7ndc





	The Song Remains a Pain

            A soft pluck of the strings and a deep bellowing tone sang in tune with the whine of his fingers slipping along the ribbed string. He switched the cord against the thread and strummed a long fluttery note. It wasn’t perfect, no, but it was precise. It was how he wanted it to sound. Nothing concrete ever sang his soul, only the faltering tone of a hesitated strum depicted his warped mind.

            “That’s beautiful.” She said.

She kept her voice low as to not disturb his creative process. Not that it mattered; he was in the zone, right where he wanted to be. Punctuating that thought with a quick E – F switch before grinding the cords to a halt, picking up with a sloppy strum that came out louder than he wanted or maybe it was exactly what the music needed. As he strummed the cigarette in his mouth bobbed in time to his music.

The flair and finish of the unwritten song vibrated his nerves, his bones; it left him feeling high and hard just as he wanted it to. That was after all, why he played. Music was the ultimate reason for so many things in his twisting scientific mine.

Rick stopped playing. His fingers still vibrated with the tones that lingered in the room. He took a long drag from the cigarette, holding it inside of him until every inch was warm.

The bed behind him shifted and he felt a warm body pressed against his back. Naked flesh ran the entire length of his spine, warming the cool skin. At first they were just lips against his thin neck and then teeth teased the already purpled mark she’d left earlier in the evening. He winced at the tender flesh before taking the cigarette from his dry lips.

“Diane,” He laughed. “Y-you’re like a fucking vampire.”

“You know you like it, darling.” She whispered hotly against his neck.

If that wasn’t enough to cause his already hard cock to bounce, her gentle drawl did the trick easily. They both laughed like idiots in the quiet of his trailer.

Diane fell back in the cot. Her tight curly brown hair fell around her face. She wore Rick’s loose fitting tank top that did little to cover anything up but that’s how he liked it. Her soft pale flesh carried the tan lines from her days helping her family on the farm. He could see the slope of her B sized breasts peaked with plump nipples that always teased a need to be touched. Her hips, curvy and beautiful, were creased by a pair of pink panties a size or two too small. Not that he minded, they were usually off, immediately after the show and his face bathed in her milky white thighs. He gave her an encore that left her screaming his name half the time, and the lord above the rest.

“That song,” She asked, taking the cigarette from him. “What’s it called?”

“Diane’s cradle.” Rick laughed lewdly.

Diane snorted and choked on the azure smoke that coursed through her lungs. Rick smirked at her, watching her tits bounce with each convulsing jolt. It rolled deep in his groin. Even though he’d spent himself inside of her twice already; he was ready to take her again.

“We should call it Beth’s cradle.” She joked.

“What?” He asked wryly.

 “Well, you never know.” Her tone lilted.

She caressed the rounded part of her belly. The pouch there was made from too many snacks and soda rather than from the question that hung in the air now. Rick just stared at her.

 “What y’all lookin’ at like that, magic man?” She teased, propping herself on one elbow.

 Rick stared at her for a long moment, though he didn’t see the _her_ he once did. She wasn’t that same stupid sixteen year old groupie that showed up at his trailer one night after a show. He’d almost sent her away but she’d been so desperate for a hug that he let her stay. Too bad the hug only came after he did but he still he let her stay.

Afterwards, he sat on the cot, strumming away as she kissed his back and neck affectionately. When the morning came, so did he and sent her out to get breakfast, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to be there when she got back.

What was the big deal, he thought, he’d given her cab fare that was enough?

The following night, it was the same thing. She stood bathed in the porchlight outside of his trailer. She wore a short skirt and a shirt that barely covered anything just the way he liked it. All she wanted was a hug and he was weak to her and took her again.

This went on for week until he grew to expect her there on his doorstep. So much that he found himself happily waiting for her outside. Now the hugs came first, and so did the kisses, and the long talks, and the belching contests, and the foul jokes. And sometimes, he never came at all. And the song’s first notes were created.

 ***

Rick rested in the lawn chair outside his trailer. He was hunkered down over his guitar. His fingers found the notes of the song that he’d been working on for almost a year now. The title read Diane’s Cradle but it had since been scratched out and Beth, written in pink ink, took its place.

He stopped to make an adjustment in pencil before starting again.

“Well, Rick?” The voice asked.

He’d almost forgotten that Diane was standing there, even though he’d seen her coming up the way. She always came when she heard him play but he rarely came when she was around anymore, so it was easy to ignore her.

“Well what?” He asked, tired from his long days on the road.

“Should we call her Beth?” Diane asked.

She cupped her small pouch beneath the long white blouse she wore.

Rick didn’t hear her though. All he could hear was a distant whining in his ears like the feedback of wily amp. Soon it was joined by the rapid bumping of the snare drum of his heartbeat. He looked at her. Her lips were moving but he heard nothing that she had to say. Slowly, he nodded his head.

And the baby’s name was Beth. And the song became nameless.

***

             Rick sat in his trailer, sweaty from his gig and yet his soul begged to be sated for the mediocre show hadn’t been enough.

He played the tune that had haunted him for just over a year now. All the pieces were falling into place. The notes on the page were near perfection and he could play it without the music sheets.

It was the song that lured her to him again. It was the same song that came with a steady knock on his trailer door. And Diane stood under the pale porch light. Her hands caressing the heavy belly that hung out from beneath his tank top that barely covered anything just the way he’d come to hate.

Diane’s smile was so desperate for a hug and he invited her in. Unfortunately for him the hug came after she did and he would have to listen to her talk about Beth.

Then in the morning, she’d come again. He sent her to get breakfast and she knew full well he’d not be there when she got back and would never be there for her again.

And the woman’s name was Diane. She had a child named Beth and the song remained the same, unheard and nameless.

***

 Rick pulled the helmet off. His breath ragged as he teetered on his feet. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his stubbly cheeks. No matter how hard he tried, he could halt the hitching sobs in his chest. He looked at the red tube clutched in his shaking hand. ‘Goodbye Diane’ was what the label said on the side of it.

“Diane,” He whispered, his voice trembling.

At hearing the name, there was a moment of clarity. His eyes moved to look at the three other tubes sitting on the table. His three worst memories in a room full of otherwise bad decisions. Through the pain, he knew what he had to do.

Rick passed through his lab, picking up the old ruddy guitar case that sat in the corner. He set it on the table and opened it. The old acoustic guitar had seen better days but still made his chest swell.

There, lying across the face of the guitar was a stack of music sheets. The title at the top consisted of many corrections because Rick never felt strongly towards anything that could inspire the name of his song, at least, until now.

He scribbled something on the title line next to the others before tossing everything back in the guitar case and started up the ladder to the garage, then to the kitchen. His thoughts guided his feet up the stairs, and into the all too familiar bedroom.

“H-hey Rick!” Morty said.

The boy lounged on his bed focusing on the small handheld game device that beeps and blooped noisily. Without saying anything, Rick snatched up the device with one hand, flicking open a portal with the gun in his other. He tossed the device through and deactivating it all in one fluid motion.

“Aw geez, Rick! Wh-what the fuck was that for?” Morty squawked, sitting up in his bed.

“Keeping you from rotting you – you’re fucking brain, Morty!” He grumbled.

“Y-you’re a real dick, you know that?”

“Sh-Shut up, Morty, I-I brought you something.”

Rick held up the battered guitar case.

“Aw, is that, like, your old guitar. God, Rick, are you – are you going to sing me a lullaby or maybe a love song.” Morty laughed.

“Well, Morty, if y-you must know, I was thinking about teaching you how to play this guitar. It might get you laid f-for a, you know, a change.”

“Might get you laid, more like it!” Morty scoffed.

“What?”

“I – I said I’m really excited, Rick.”

“That’s what I thought y-you said, you fucking piece of shit.”

Rick slammed the guitar case down on the bed, nearly hitting Morty with it. He flipped it open and jerked the guitar roughly from its cradle by its neck. The music sheets inside fluttered around before slowly swooped in to land on the floor around Morty’s feet.

“Wh-What’s this?” He said scooping up the front page before Rick could grab it.

“It’s a song I’ve been fucking with for a – for a few days now.” Rick lied.

“Morty’s Cradle,” Morty said, looking up at him with great big eyes. “I-I don’t know, it sounds pretty gay to me, you know?”

It was Rick’s turn to scoff as he snatched the paper away along with his guitar, starting to shove them back into the case.

“No – no, Rick, I’m sorry. I was just, you know, I was just teasing you.” Morty laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that’s ah – that’s really funny there, Morty.” Rick gritted his teeth.

Rick thrust the guitar in Morty’s lap roughly before settling in on the bed next to him. Morty adjusted the strap around his neck before looking to Rick for a little more guidance. He helped the boy line his fingers up just right, and passed him an official “Flesh Curtain” guitar pick.

That’s when Morty strummed his first cord. It wasn’t perfect, no, but it was precise. There was something surprisingly optimistic about the look on Morty’s face. It reminded Rick of a distant memory that he struggled so hard to forget. It left him desperate for a hug but no one came to stand under his porchlight. And the song was finally heard and it finally had a name.


End file.
